How Things Are
by DreamImpossibleThings
Summary: Not how they'll always be. - riley-centric; slight rileyfarkle, mayalucas.


**a/n:** this is a disney channel show about four 12-year-olds so why do the main characters all have such good potential for angst?

this may or may not be a mess idk.

* * *

><p><strong>How Things Are<strong>

_"this dream isn't feeling sweet_  
><em>we're reeling through the midnight streets<em>  
><em>and i've never felt more alone<em>  
><em>feels so scary, getting old"<em>

- Lorde, "Ribs"

* * *

><p><strong>12:19 AM<strong>

It's a little past midnight when you finally return home from your first high school party, with knots in your hair, alcohol in your system, and your best friend clutching to your arm for dear life. Stepping into the darkness of your family's apartment, you regret telling your parents you would sleep over at Maya's tonight. Your curfew was two and a half hours ago. They should be waiting up for you, worried sick. Your father should be yelling, and your mother should be demanding to know why you're tripping over your feet, and why Maya is using you as a crutch, and why Farkle has to keep his hands firmly planted to Lucas's shoulders just to keep the taller boy upright.

But tonight was a big deal to you, and Maya doesn't have a curfew, so you planned on staying at her place, so that's what you told your parents, so they are already in bed, as is your little brother, and the apartment is dark, and feels empty somehow, as does a lot of things to you nowadays, and that's just how things are.

You pry Maya's hand from your arm, letting her fall into Lucas, and the two teenagers collapse onto the couch together in a heap of hiccups and giggles. Farkle shushes them, laughing a little in spite of his current role as the only completely sober member of your little group, and therefore the voice of reason by default for tonight. You cross the living room and enter the kitchen without so much as cracking a smile, expression stone cold and brown eyes glassy. Farkle takes notice, but doesn't say anything. Not yet.

If Maya were sober right now, she would have already noticed how uncharacteristically quiet and gloomy you've become - after all, you're her best friend, and the most constant thing in her life, and she knows you better than anyone - and you would already be sobbing into her leather-clad shoulder and telling her everything.

But Maya is wasted, even though you made her swear she wouldn't drink tonight, and you can't even be mad at her for not keeping her word, because you've broken the same promise, and then some, that you made to yourself, and that's just how things are.

* * *

><p><strong>10:15 PM<strong>

When you're Riley Matthews, it's your job to stay in line. Leave it to Maya Hart to get you into trouble. Chaos follows her. It seems to be her goal in life to wreak havoc everywhere she goes, like the beautiful hurricane of a girl she is, while your sunshine-self is left obligated to pick up the pieces at the end of each day.

But that's before you show up to your first real party, in a new dress and a pair of (Maya's) heels, with painted lips and an aura of childlike excitement surrounding you that causes even your friends to roll their eyes.

That's definitely before one of Lucas's cute friends from the baseball team shoves a plastic cup, overflowing with some foul-smelling liquid, into your shaking hands. You respond by looking at him like he's just grown another head, because _you're Riley Matthews_, and _you don't drink_, and _everyone should know that_, and _what kind of girl does he take you to be_?

"To take the edge off," he tells you, nodding to your drink. Then he flashes the sort of boyish smile that tends to fill your stomach with butterflies and your heart with nervous laughter, and you find yourself tipping your cup back in between his charming anecdotes and lighthearted flirts.

The taste is even worse than the smell. _Absolutely rancid,_ you decide, imagining this to be something similar to how paint thinner must taste. It burns your throat and makes you feel woozy, and you can't understand how this is supposed to help as far as taking any "edge" off goes. But the boy laughs at the faces you make after each sip, and _God_, that laugh is even better than his smile.

So yes, y_ou are Riley Matthews_, and _you don't drink_, and _everyone **does **know that_, but what everyone doesn't know about you is that you're a pretty damn good actor when you want to be. Drama club might be a hobby you quickly abandoned once entering high school, but tonight - when you strongly suspect that this boy you've never spoken to, who doesn't even matter, really - wouldn't be particularly impressed with any version of Riley Matthews anyone has ever met before, you can put that old, nearly forgotten talent to good use.

And that's exactly what you do.

You're (**_not_**) Riley Matthews, and you're putting on a show (It's a good one). You hate the taste of alcohol on your tongue and the effect it has on you, but you keep drinking (Why?). You think it feels kind of good to talk to someone insignificant, someone with no preconceived idea of who you are (But who are you, anyway?). You keep him laughing, and you just hope it's for the right reasons (It's not).

* * *

><p><strong>11:23 PM<strong>

Before you know it, you're following him to the top of the stairs and behind a locked door, giggling at the truly meaningless, but nonetheless, sweet sounding words that he whispers. You hope they're only for you to know, but you can only realistically suspect otherwise, right?

Eventually he stops whispering, which you guess is okay, because at that point he was muttering into your neck, and you couldn't really make out what he was saying. He presses his lips against yours. They're sloppy and wet, but you try to like it because you're supposed to. You wonder where your friends are. Where did they go after you started talking to him? He moves his lips to the hollow of your neck, and you remember seeing Maya and Lucas step onto the back porch. His hands inch up your thighs, and maybe you remember throwing a glance over your shoulder as you followed him up the stairs, unsure of what you were looking for, and making eye contact with Farkle for a split second.

You're cold, and your mind is fuzzy. When had your dress come off? You lie still beneath him. Your back hurts. Aren't you supposed to feel sexy? Isn't this supposed to be fun? It's not. This is awkward, and you feel gross. Did you think you would suddenly know what to do when you got up here? You don't. You have no idea where to put your hands or what's supposed to feel good, but that must not make much of a difference to him. You wish he would stop grunting like that while he's on top of you.

When he's finished, he asks if you're okay. Gently, you tell him you are, covering yourself with the blankets as he removes himself from you.

He leaves before you can get your dress back on.

* * *

><p><strong>11:48 PM<strong>

When you finally emerge from the master bedroom, cheeks flushed and lipstick smeared, you find Farkle at the bottom of the stares, like he's been waiting there for you. There's a crease between his brows, and you don't like the way he's looking at you, with his eyes narrowed like there's something in your expression he's trying to find, so you avoid his gaze, mumbling something about how he should find Lucas and Maya so you can all go home now.

He doesn't ask why you want to leave all of a sudden, or why you look so disheveled, or why you seem to be on the verge of tears. Because he's been watching you bullshit your way through your little role play all night, and he feels like he kind of knows already. Besides, it isn't his place. It's not his job to save you from yourself tonight.

He should have asked anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>12:00 AM<strong>

This is not how things were supposed to go for you. You were not supposed to lose your virginity at fifteen to a stranger, under the influence of alcohol someone had probably stolen from their parents, in a bed that didn't belong to either of you. You aren't supposed to have to wrack your brain trying to remember his last name and whether his eyes are brown or green, or maybe hazel.

But this is how things go, and you slept with a boy you don't even know, and you can't remember what color his eyes are, and you're sure that you never knew his last name in the first place (you can ask Lucas later), and that's just how things are.

You are Riley Matthews, and you are Cory and Topanga's little girl, and Auggie's big sister, and you are fifteen years old, and you're on the cheer team, and you have amazing friends who care deeply for you and mean the world to you, and you deserve to feel loved and you aren't supposed to feel this **_empty_**.

But you do, you feel empty, and you don't feel loved - if anything, you feel **_used_ **- and it's been a while since you could say otherwise, and you've never felt more alone, and you should have known better than to try playing a part you aren't cut out for - someone alluring, someone interesting, someone you'll never be, you stupid girl - and that's just how things are.

* * *

><p><strong>12:32 AM<strong>

When did everyone start growing up so fast? You're forced to ask yourself that as you sit at your kitchen table, looking on in detached interest at the antics going on in your living room. In Maya's current state, drunk out of her wits and as giggly as you've ever seen her, she absolutely insists that she still remembers how to do a backhand spring from those five weeks of gymnastics she took when she was eight. She has enlisted the equally intoxicated Lucas to be her spotter. Farkle needs you right now. He's not used to being the one to keep the rest of you out of trouble, and he could sure use some help in preventing your respective best friends from doing anything stupid - like, for instance, one best friend breaking their neck in your living room during a drunken attempt at tumbling while the other best friend makes a halfhearted attempt to spot.

Maybe they haven't grown up so much after all, you think. This does seem pretty childish, as long as you ignore the part about them being drunk.

But still.

Farkle has a girlfriend now. His first one, a real one. She's a mousy little thing called Molly, with an intellect so impressive it threatens to rival even that of the Minkus boy. He's still excelling academically - and effortlessly, it seems - because he's the same overachiever you've always known, just a few years taller, smarter, and better looking.

This is the year Maya started caring about her grades. Thanks to the almost embarrassing amount of encouragement she receives from you and your friends on the daily, she's beginning to think that maybe there is such a thing as this "good life" that Lucas likes to muse over when the nights get old, and maybe she has a chance of creating her own (this little epiphany of hers, you are eternally grateful for). She's got a job application for a diner that's located near your apartment hidden under her pillow. Her art is only getting better, and Ms. Kossal wants to start entering some of her work into competitions soon.

Lucas is as much of a perfectionist as ever, working his ass off on the ball field and in the classroom. He needs to keep his GPA up, and he needs to make his mother proud, and he needs to earn himself a baseball scholarship, and _he needs, he needs, he needs_, but you're always left wondering what it is exactly that he _wants_. He's only at the tail end of his freshman year, so you think it's sort of silly that matters like graduation and scholarships are already weighing so heavily on his mind. You tell him he expects too much from himself. He tells you everyone else already expects it.

And then there's you. You are Riley, and you are not a genius, or an artist, or an athlete. You are Riley, and you are single, and your parents don't want you to get a job, and you have no idea what you want to be tomorrow (you don't even know what you are today), let alone for the rest of your life. You are Riley, and you're just trying your best to keep up with your friends' million mile an hour lives as you lurch along at your little turtle-pace.

You're forced to wonder when your turtle-pace became too fast for your own liking.

* * *

><p><strong>1:13 AM<strong>

Farkle eventually succeeds in calming Lucas and Maya down for bit, and ushers them into your room, where he forces them to lay down. Both of them promptly pass out as soon as their heads hit a pillow. Maya is sprawled out on your bed on top of the covers, and Lucas is curled up at your bay window with a thin blanket draped over him. Farkle is sitting across from you at the table now.

"Rough night?" he asks, as if he has to.

"You could say that," you quietly reply. He's wracking his brain for something to say to make you feel better - you can see the wheels turning - but he's got nothing. What can he say that wouldn't be more hollow than you?

"I don't know what's wrong with me lately," you tell him.

"What do you mean?"

"I pretended to be someone else tonight."

"That's nothing new. You were Audrey Hepburn last week, remember?" he says, in an attempt to lighten the mood that he knows is futile as soon as he thinks of it.

"No." You shake your head slightly, with a sad smile that he hates looking at. "I pretended I was someone else because I don't like who I am."

"I like you," he quickly replies. "So does Maya, and Lucas, and your parents, and my parents, and Auggie, and-"

"I'm not even sure who that is."

He doesn't know what to tell you. He didn't think he was obligated to save you from yourself, but when he recalls how you did the same for him in the past - and would probably do again and again, without fail, no matter how old you both get, as long as he needs you to - he feels guilty. He may belong to another, but you're far more to him than the former object of his pre-adolescent affections, and it'd be stupid of him to pretend otherwise.

It's then that you hear the sound of something clattering against the floor in your room, followed by a series of hushed giggles.

"Great. The children are up," you say, rolling your eyes. "They're probably going to be sick in the morning." You stand, and begin to make your way to the hallway. "You need to take Lucas to your house or something. His mom will kill him if she sees him like this. I guess Maya's staying here-"

"Why do you do that?" Farkle asks abruptly, his voice probably louder than it needs to be with your parents and brother asleep down the hall.

You stop, looking over your shoulder. "Huh?"

"You take care of everyone, Riley. You spend all your time trying to fix everyone's problems and make sure they're happy. What about you? Who takes care of you?"

"Farkle . . ." you begin, not sure how to answer that. Before you can form a coherent reply, he continues.

"I know you, Riley," he tells you, standing. "And I like you. But if you don't . . ." He shakes his head, and shoves his hands in his pockets. "I don't know. I guess I just think that you need to get approval from yourself before you look for it in anyone else. You're one of my best friends, and it kills me to see you put so much value into what other people think of you when that's not who you are. Your friends, we know who you are, even if you don't, and we love you for it."

You don't doubt what he says. Another something bangs against the floor in your room. More laughs. You wonder how your parents haven't woken up yet. Farkle looks at you, then at the floor, back at you, and you can only stare.

You always thought love to be the kind of thing that would pierce you suddenly and knock you off your feet. But that's not how it happens for you. No, for you, it's a quiet realization that creeps up on you and curls itself around your heart. You think it's kind of funny, in a screwed up sort of way, that you have to feel like this now, of all times, after you've lost your virginity to someone else and he's lost his feelings for you. You push it away. You're not ready for that. Not yet.

You offer him a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes, nod, and continue to your room.

"Lucas, time for you to go. Say goodnight to Maya."

"Awwwww, no!"

"C'mon, Riles. Me and Bucky were just starting to have fun!"

"Maya, please put that lamp down. You've been having fun all night. It's time to say goodnight. C'mon, Lucas, you're going home with Farkle."

"But I don't want to go."

"Would you rather I call your mother to pick you up? It's almost 2 AM, but I'm sure it wouldn't be too much trouble-"

"Goodnight, Maya."

* * *

><p><strong>2:27 AM<strong>

It's two o'clock in the morning, and you're in bed, counting ceiling tiles and mulling over the events of this night, while Maya snores soundly beside you. She's a mess of untidy blonde waves and smudged eyeliner wrapped up in Lucas's jacket (that his drunk self ridiculously insisted she keep, "something to remember him by," he said), and she's your best friend and you love her.

Your phone buzzes on the bedside table. You turn it over to see a text from Farkle.

"_Are you okay_?"

You type back: "_I will be_," and you believe it.

This is not how things were supposed to go for you. You were not supposed to do things you hate to be someone you're not to gain the approval of someone you don't know. You were not supposed to lose your virginity to a boy who doesn't matter. You were not supposed to lose your heart to a boy who means the world but doesn't know it. You were not supposed to learn the difference between love and lust like this.

But this is how things go, and these things happen, and you're still not sure who you are, but you have all the time in the world to learn, and that's just how things are, and that's okay, because that's not how things will always be.

* * *

><p><strong>an:** fun fact; this entire thing started solely with the idea of lucaya & drunken attempts at gymnastics. it was going to be lucaya!humor, then it became riley!angst. so there's that.

took some inspiration from the songs "ribs" by lorde and "try" by colbie caillat. the latter has reminded me of riley since the first few listens, and i recommend you give both of those a listen if you haven't already.


End file.
